


What Hurts the Most

by BuffyRowan



Series: Neighboring Solitudes [1]
Category: Sherlock Holmes (1984 TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Introspection, M/M, POV First Person, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-23
Updated: 2015-07-23
Packaged: 2018-04-10 20:45:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4407071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BuffyRowan/pseuds/BuffyRowan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A bit of introspection from Sherlock after John's wedding.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Hurts the Most

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Python07](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Python07/gifts).



> Python07 had the idea for this story, I just ended up being the one who wrote it. The italics are the lyrics from Rascal Flatts "What Hurts the Most"

_I can take the rain on the roof of this empty house_  
_That don't bother me_

I despise inactivity, but I found myself sitting by the fire, studying the patterns of raindrops against the window. The only cases I'd been presented recently were child's play, and my latest experiments had become a dead end, leaving me to consider new lines of inquiry.

_I can take a few tears now and then and just let them out_  
_I'm not afraid to cry every once in a while_  
_Even though going on with you gone still upsets me_  
_There are days every now and again I pretend I'm ok_  
_But that's not what gets me_

I have always highly prized my privacy, my solitude, and my  independence. In the beginning, I had resigned myself to the necessity of getting a roommate, and hoped to find someone I could tolerate sharing quarters with. Now I find myself straining to hear the sound of his footsteps, to catch the scent of his cigarettes. Somehow, during the intervening years, Dr. John Watson has come to become a part of me, one that I miss dearly. I depended on his solid presence to ground me, I'd even come to depend on his undisciplined questioning to aid my investigations.

No, I must be honest. Watson's questions were not undisciplined, they were simply from a discipline different from my own. I used my questions to uncover secrets and reach the facts. Watson questioned to discover symptoms and diagnose the case.

_What hurts the most_  
_Was being so close_  
_And having so much to say_  
_And watching you walk away_

It wasn't until Watson announced his plans to marry that I began to comprehend the importance of his role in my life. Until then, I had resented the time that Watson spent courting Miss Morstan, but had not considered the logical conclusion of such a courtship, nor its impacts upon myself. A man may quite easily marry, leaving behind bachelor friends, especially if he believes the friendship to be unequal.  How often I berated myself for being such a blind fool! If I had only spoken a fraction of the words I'd held back, Watson might not have been so willing to leave. Things I consider irrelevant, he would have considered tokens of friendship and trust. He had never pushed, but he was always eager for some crumb of information about my past, no matter how trivial.

_And never knowing_  
_What could have been_  
_And not seeing that loving you_  
_Is what I was tryin' to do_

I prefer not to dwell on fanciful dreams of what might have been, had circumstances been different. Events occurred, and cannot be undone, and such imaginings only serve to exacerbate the feeling of loss. In this case, however, I find it extremely difficult to ignore such considerations. John is the only person to have ever demonstrated such perseverance and tolerance in friendship with me. I find myself examining closely events of our years together, seeking signs that John might have felt more than simple friendship, searching for some hint that my hidden regard was returned.

_It's hard to deal with the pain of losing you everywhere I go_  
But I'm doin' It  
It's hard to force that smile when I see our old friends and I'm alone

Inspector Lestrade has made a few acerbic comments, but I would expect nothing less, our relationship precludes any other kind of reaction.  I find it more difficult when Mycroft or friendly acquaintances query me about John's happy state of matrimony. I answer with impatience and disinterest, furthering the illusion that I "speak of softer feelings only with a sneer." Of them, only Mycroft, and perhaps Mrs. Hudson, may suspect how off-balance I feel without Watson, how much I miss our quiet evenings at home.

__Still Harder  
Getting up, getting dressed, livin' with this regret__

I find it harder to lose myself in my work nowadays. Neither my investigations nor my scientific pursuits hold my attention the way they did before. Perhaps because I have no one to recount my adventures and discoveries to anymore. Only an empty set of rooms that hold the ghost of warm camaraderie.

_But I know if I could do it over_  
I would trade give away all the words that I saved in my heart  
That I left unspoken

I should have risked everything and told him. John was my friend  above all, and a man not given to harsh actions. Even if he did not return my regard, I doubt he would have turned me into the police for my preference in partner. No, if he did not return my regards, the worst that would have happened is what has already come to pass: the bonds of friendship would have been slowly weakened until they broke of their own accord.

_What hurts the most_  
_Is being so close_  
_And having so much to say_  
_And watching you walk away_  
_And never knowing_  
_What could have been_

Ah, but hope is a quiet killer. Whilst I remained silent, I had no proof that John did _not_ return my regard. So I was content to wait, to keep what I had of him and not lose all on a gamble for more.

__And not seeing that loving you  
Is what I was trying to do__

I watch as one large drop of water divides into two as it continues its journey down the glass. Did John ever realize how much closer I allowed him? Not only did I share rooms with him for years, I introduced him to Mycroft, I took the time and effort to explain my thoughts, to trace the evidence as I saw it. There are very few that I have made that effort for, and fewer still that I would allow to comment so freely on my weakness, my addiction.

_W _hat hurts the most  
Is being so close__

Perhaps it is better this way. Living with him, the temptation to say something, to do something, was almost too much even for my self-control The innumerable of times I had to restrain myself from reaching out and touching, or kissing, have come to an end. There is no longer any temptation to barge in on him at odd times, the hope of catching him in his smallclothes or nude a small thought at the back of my mind.

_And having so much to say_  
_And watching you walk away_  
_And never knowing_  
_What could have been_  
_And not seeing that loving you_  
_Is what I was trying to do_

Of course, there are also no more pleasant conversations over meals together, no quiet evenings together in the study. No more watching John in the firelight while he reads, serenading him with whatever has caught my fancy on the violin. Thousands of tiny joys in the day-to-day mundane, now firmly out of reach.

__(Not seeing that loving you)  
That's what I was trying to do__

I force myself to shake off my pensive mood when one of my Irregulars brings me a package. I never asked where certain items were procured, though I am equally certain that the story would amuse me. Bricks, ten years old by the stamp, from a building that has certainly seen use. There are several tests I wished to perform, just to satisfy an old curiosity about such things.

It is for the best that events have followed this course. As painful as it has been to lose John, I still have the comfort of knowing that should I require his assistance for a case, my old friend will not hesitate to return to my side. It is all I could hope for, as things stand.


End file.
